A Story, Of Sorts
by Killerturtles
Summary: "It had been nine months since her body washed up in the Marianna, and four months, thirty days and twelve hours since he quit." Written by me, this time. R


A Story of Sorts

It had been fifteen years since bossman Michael Cole assigned him a new partner. Twelve years since he asked her out, but exactly fourteen years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days since he had fallen madly in love with her.

It had been twelve years since she first turned him down, and it only took two years, seventy-five proposals and six minutes before she finally agreed to a date him.

It had been nine years since their first date. He had worn a deep purple fedora that didn't even come close to matching the fancy white blouse and green biker shorts he had donned. She had worn a little black cocktail dress, and had diamonds in her ears. He held open the door to an aging car, and she laughed and followed him in. He loved to look at her, and she loved to be looked at. She always wanted to be a model, but the police force was his life. She was his one weakness and he loved her for it. She never cared how silly he looked on that first date and he didn't care that she got him a permanent ban from that upscale little place they had gone to.

It had been nine years and seven days since the night they fell in love. It took one month after The Date before he told her, and it was eight years, eleven months and twelve seconds 'til she agreed. It was eight years, eleven months, and thirteen seconds since their first real kiss.

It had been eight years and ten months since they thought they could never love another, and eight years, nine months before they knew. And it was only three months after that when she left him. Eight years, seven months since she returned. He pretended he didn't care, and she knew it was her biggest regret. He hated himself for making her leave, and for not stopping her. She hated herself for leaving, and for hurting him so bad. He was scared to try; she was scared not to. He hated her, and she loved him. She hated herself, and he couldn't forget his love.

It was eight years and two months since they tried counseling, and eight years and two months since they stormed out and made love in the back room of a couples counseling office's left supply closet for the first time. It was had been eight years and two months since their second real kiss. And eight years, one month, seventeen days since they stopped pretending. They didn't care, they stopped pretending this wasn't real. It was eight years, one month and sixteen since it was real. It had taken seven years before they gave themselves to each other and shared all their hopes and demons with each other. It took seven years, eleven months, and four weeks before all their kisses were real.

It was seven years and three months since she told him that she loved him for the second time, and one month, seven days, and six hours that he hated himself for withholding it. One month, seven days, and six hours that she fearfully waited. It had been seven years since she quit the force and six years, three months since she took up modeling. Two months before she was fired, and six years since she had become a baker. He said he didn't understand her, and when he told her that, she just laughed and said it was okay because she didn't really understand herself either. He loved her, and she loved him.

It had been five years, two months since they had decided to become parents and five years, ten months since their wedding. Two years of hopes amounted to nothing, and it had been four years since they gave up. But she didn't really care, and he loved her so much that it didn't matter. It was one month until they decided to become foster parents, but three years and five months before they actually did.

Kelly was with them for two months before her eighteenth birthday and Mike was with them a year and a half.

It had been two years, six months, twenty-seven days, thirteen hours, seven minutes and five seconds since he last saw her. Two years, six months and twenty-seven days since she had been kidnapped. Two years, six months, twenty-seven days, twelve hours, and fifty-four second since he last said "I love you". It had been the worst twenty-four hours of his life, and the first foster child he had without her –for two years, six months, and twenty-seven days.

It was two years, six months, and twenty-eight days since they investigation began and all it led to was two years, six months, and twenty-seven days of nothing. It had been two years, three months since their last legitimate lead petered out. It had been two years and one month since he had given up hope and one year and eight months of wondering. He gave up on himself, but never her, never the kid. Sometimes,

Sometimes

That's not enough.

It had been nine months since her body washed up in the Marianna, and four months, thirty days and twelve hours since he quit.

It had been three months since he began therapy, and twenty-nine days since he gave it up. He loved her, and she loved him. She just wasn't there anymore.

It had been twenty-seven days since he got drunk for the second time in his life, twenty-six days since he was hospitalized, and twenty-four days since he was released. It was twenty-three days since he bought a gun, and twenty-two days since it had been loaded – five bullets, just in case. It had been twenty-one days of wondering, planning, and strangely, hoping; and now it was one day, three hours and seventeen seconds before he planned to kill himself.

It was six hours since he left for the funeral, and eighteen hours he was missing. It was four minutes and thirty-one seconds since the anniversary of the day he had last looked at her and four minutes and twenty-one second since that anniversary of the day he said "I love you" to her for the last time.

It had been three minutes since he loaded the gun, and two minute since he arrived the cemetery. It was fifty-one seconds since the last tear dripped down his face, and thirty nine second of contemplation.

It was twelve seconds since his five year old daughter arrived, and nine seconds before he spoke.

"I'm

so

sorry

honey."

It was three seconds since he last hugged his little girl, two seconds before she ran back to Nanny, and one second before he pulled the trigger.

It's been twenty-one years, four months, nine days, and forty-nine seconds since my foster father committed suicide, and it's stayed with me every second of the twenty-one years of my life I've had to live without him. It's been forty-one years, two months, and five hours since my dad fell in love and only fourteen days, and twenty-seven minutes that I've regretted it.

It's been two years since I joined the Police Department and seven months since I quit. It's been six months that I've been writing, two weeks since I published my book _How long I have loved You, _and eleven days that it's been a bestseller. It's my first time talking to a large crowd and one minute until it'll end.

"Do you self a favor

And

Fall

In

Love."

I know I have.

It was sixty-eight years until his daughter died, and twelve months after, her husband died too.

She loved him,

And he loved her.

He told her what to do but she never listened. He made her laugh, and she made him smile.

He loved her,

And she loved him.

And really? That was all that mattered.

She loved him,

And he loved her.

**A/N: What do you think?**


End file.
